Saying Goodbye
by Joe King
Summary: A series of oneshots all ending with the words Saying Goodbye. They're kind of sad, be warned.
1. The Potters and Sirius

Saying Goodbye

Lily heard the scuffling downstairs and held Harry close. She knew what was going to happen. She had known it would happen since she had last kissed James. She had known then it had been a goodbye kiss. A goodbye kiss to her husband of only 2 years. The baby in her arms cooed, and she gently shushed it, rocking the baby boy back and forth. Lily heard the cold, cruel voice of Voldemort, and then her husband spoke. She couldn't understand the words, but the voice was strong and sure. She could just picture James staring at the terror of the wizarding world with his head held high, his back straight, and his eyes burning defiantly. In her mind's eye, Lily saw James's jaw set as he radiated waves of anger, determined to stop anyone who dared to try and hurt his wife and son. James knew what was going to happen, just like she did. He wanted to give her a chance. Lily remembered their last frantic moments together.

"James-" she'd said, worried when she had seen his face. His reply had seemed to freeze her heart.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-" James had told her, and then given her one quick kiss, breathing, "I love you and Harry both more than life itself," before he stumbled from the room, going out to face Voldemort. Going out to face his death. His face came into focus in her mind. His nice nose, his lips, his strong chin, his ready smile, his happy brown eyes. His eternally messy hair. She remembered all the times she had told him to take care of it, and his answer had always been the same. "My hair is unmanageable, Lily, even magic can't do anything to it." She felt a tear slide down her cheek, knowing that last whispered 'I love you' would be the last time she'd hear it from him. She pulled her baby close and kissed his forehead, pushing back jet black bangs.

"Your father's a wonderful man, Harry," Lily whispered before she put Harry in the cradle. She had to get something. There was one thing she had to have, one thing that couldn't be remade if destroyed, even with magic.. She was on the other side of the room from Harry when she heard a sound that made her shiver. A high, cold, cruel laugh. That laugh could belong to only one person, Voldemort. Lily was glad she had spent those short, yet precious moments saying goodbye to her husband. She was glad she had taken her last chance to tell James how much she loved him. To tell him for the final time. As if to confirm her thought, she heard the two worst words in the world. The words that make even the greatest wizards cower in fear. The words that make the strongest men break.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ Voldemort yelled with fiendish glee.Lily heard something fall to the ground. She knew what had collapsed; she knew James had fallen, unblemished, to the floor. Lily knew that if she were to look out into their family room, she would see James lying there in a crumpled heap. She would see his body, now simply a discarded husk that was no longer her beloved James Potter, because her husband was dead. Lily had known it would happen, had been unconsciously waiting for those dreaded words, but she still froze in shock. The awful truth still slipped from her grasp-just like the picture she had been holding-even though she knew James was dead. _Her_ James was gone from her life. Gone forever. Her son would never hear his father's contagious laugh again, would never get to go running as fast as he could to welcome his dad home from work, would never hear his father tell him, 'I love you, son.' Lily knew that these things were true, but she didn't understand them. It was still too new, too unreal. Lily couldn't wrap her mind around it. She didn't understand it, but she still whispered, "Goodbye, James, my love."

She turned slowly, in a trance-like state, and walked towards the crib, all her carefully laid plans trickling away like water. The closer she tried to hold them, the quicker they slipped away from her. She didn't care. She knew she should be worried, but she wasn't. Lily was too stunned to be bothered by lack of fear. She picked up her one-year-old son, a child who looked just like her beloved James, and held him close.

"Well, Harry, it's just you and me now," she said, and she kissed his cheek as she laid him gently down. "You know, I don't know what to do. I think we might die. I don't want to, but at the same time I do. I loved James so much, and I can't picture life without him. I'm going to get you away, though, and then I'll come back. I can't let you die. It's a mother's love that won't allow me to let my child come to harm. The mother in me still has an idea what to do, even if the rest of me doesn't. I have to come back, though. I'll get a few things: clothes, books…pictures of your father and us as a family. In case I don't make it, Harry, I love you. I know you won't remember this, you're too young, but I still want to tell you. I still _need_ to tell you this, Harry. I hope you have a wonderful life and-"

Lily stopped when she heard the door creaking open behind her and turned quickly, stopping dead at what she saw. Voldemort's wand was pointed casually at the crib. It looked casual, but nothing from the Dark Lord was as simple as it seemed. It was all full of evil and hate. Lily hurried to put herself directly in front of her son, between him and the wand. She couldn't let Harry get hurt. He was her son, hers and James. She would die to protect him. She knew that without a doubt, and it gave her strength. "Good-bye Harry," Lily whispered, even though she knew her son couldn't hear her.

Voldemort smiled at her, a frozen smile that sent chills through her entire body and even into her bones, but she didn't waver. This was where she belonged, between Voldemort and her son. She belonged in front of Harry, protecting him.

"Stand aside, you have no need to die," he hissed in his cold voice. He waited for her to obey.

A fog seemed to have enveloped her mind when he said those words.Those were words of mercy and pity. Words of human feeling coming from a man who knew nothing of human emotions, a person who relished in the pain and fear of others. He was telling her to_ stand aside? She was being given a _choiceWell, Lily knew what she would do. Harry was her son and she was not going to let him be slain.

"I said stand aside, girl. When I speak, you listen. When you hear me, you obey. Now move, you don't have to die like your pathetic excuse for a husband," Voldemort said, talking of murdering James as if it had been nothing more than a simple bat-boogie hex. She felt hot anger lick her insides.

She heard, other laughter, other voices, and knew the sounds belonged to Death Eaters. They sounded as if they came from another time and another place, though she knew they were from her current nightmare. Her nightmare that had become her reality. She smelt smoke. Her house was on fire. Her home. James's home. She looked down at her feet, not wanting Voldemort to see her emotions show, and saw the picture she had dropped, with glass shards laying all around it. It was the three of them-her, James, and Harry-laughing and smiling at Harry's first birthday. Harry had cake smeared all over his face, just like most one year olds at their birthday. She was looking proudly at her son, love showing from her eyes. She felt tears come to her eyes as looked at James's laughing face as he held his son, but batted them away. Voldemort could not see her cry…he would take it as weakness. The shards of glass had torn into the picture, ripping it…but it was nothing compared to how those two words-the death of her husband-had torn her heart apart, leaving it in little pieces like the glass front of the frame.

"I am waiting," Voldemort snapped impatiently.

Lily took a deep breath, looking at the James and Harry in the picture, the sounds of her house being destroyed in her ears, and she screamed. She glared defiantly at Voldemort, the person she had once feared more than another in the world. Her scream had turned into a shriek of rage, a screech of defiance, and a cry of anguish. It was not a yelp of fear. She was beyond fear.

'Let me kill the brat, wench," Voldemort ordered. "_Imperio_!"

Lily suddenly felt light, she felt happy. The sadness, the rage, the emotions she had been experiencing were far away.

"_Stand aside…stand aside, just move aside…" _a voice echoed in her head. As Lily started to move, the voice went on, _"Just move aside…let me kill the worthless whelp…"_ The voice had said the wrong thing. With those words, Lily threw the Imperious Curse off. Lily understood that he wasn't taunting her. Voldemort really wanted to kill her son, her baby boy. She knew that she had a choice to make, a choice between life and death. She knew which she would choose.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" she pleaded as the reality of the situation fully hit her. Voldemort wanted to murder her child, her son. But he had been willing to give _her_ a chance, perhaps, just perhaps, he would be willing to give Harry a chance too.

Voldemort's mouth contorted. It was now a menacing line. "Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now-"

"Not Harry, please! Take me, kill me instead!" she begged, tears starting to leak from her eyes. Maybe he would take her as a substitute! She knew she was hanging onto hope, a very slim chance at some pity, but she had to. She had to plead for Harry, for her baby boy. For James's son.

Voldemort raised his wand, a cruel smile on his face. He was enjoying the begging. Perhaps, if she distracted him long enough, help would come in time to save Harry.

"Not Harry! Please…" Lily held her hands up in supplication, pleading for her son with her all. If only he'd take her life instead. Life would be nothing with both her loves gone, her husband and her son dead at the hands of this awful man. "Have mercy…have mercy…" she cried.

"Mercy?" he asked, chuckling as if amused by the idea. Lily reached her hand into the crib and felt a tiny fist grab onto her finger. She smiled slightly at the strength in the grip. She still found joy in her son, even though her husband was dead and his murderer was about to kill her.

"I think not," Voldemort continued in the same scornfully amused sort of way. "Mercy is for weak fools, and I am neither weak, Lily, nor a fool. I thought you knew that. I have overestimated others before, but I did think more of you," he sighed as if disappointed. "Oh well. _Avada Kedavra_!" a jet of green light shot from his wand towards her. She had time for two last thoughts to flit through head. She would be saying hello to James very soon, saying hello right after saying goodbye. As she heard the rush of speeding death, she thought, '_Goodbye, Harry, my precious son.' _

The green light hit her and she knew no more. She was no more.

Sirius Black, in the form of the big, black dog was in a graveyard in Godric's Hollow. He was looking at the graves of the two best people in the world. James and Lily Potter. He had loved them both so much. He leaned down towards the grave, his wet nose leaving a water mark upon the headstone.

"_James," _he thought, "_it's been twelve years, and I still miss you. I wish you were here. I wish that I wasn't the one to go and watch over Harry. I wish I wasn't the only one who knew what traitorous scum Peter was!"_ he thought vehemently. "_But then again, if others knew that truth, you would be alive. I'm sorry. I am so sorry I had you change to Peter at the last minute. If I had stuck with the plan, you would be alive. If I hadn't tried to be bloody brilliant…Oh, James, Lily, why did I do that? Why did I have to switch to Peter? Why didn't I see what scum he was? Why!"_ Sirius thought, and he whined. If he had been in human form, he would have had tears running down his face. "_I'll come back, if I get the chance. I need some time with you two. Right now, I have to go. I want to see Harry before he heads to Hogwarts. And James, Lily…I'll take good care of him. I promise." _He turned around and padded back out of the graveyard. At the top of the hill, where he could look down on all of the graves, he looked over his shoulder.

Anyone who happened to be looking at this scene in the dead of night would have wondered at what they saw, for the dog waved goodbye.

Sirius knew what a foolish thing he was doing when he waved, he knew it was dangerous, but he was saying goodbye.


	2. Hagrid

He was easily the tallest one in the crowd, with his wild hair making him look fierce. He didn't care, not really. Nothing much mattered anymore. He had no mom…no, she had left a long time ago. He had no dad…he had just died. He had no friends…not many people wanted to associate with him, because of what he was. He didn't care about that, either…though most twelve year-olds would. He agreed with what his dad had said. "If they don't like you because of what you are instead of liking you for who you are, they're not worth you time." His dad had been a smart bloke, very wise and kind. The world had lost something when he died, though not many people noticed. This 'crowd' as he had called it was nothing more than a small gathering. His dad had had few friends, but the ones he did have were loyal. They were the best folks in the world.

'Hello, Hagrid," someone said quietly above him. "May I sit down?" Hagrid shrugged. He really didn't care. He had no family anymore…no one who loved him. It didn't matter if someone sat down. When had it ever?

"Sure," he said. He felt whoever it was sit down next to him.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid. You're father was a wonderful man…it's a hard loss, for us all," the man, Hagrid realized it was a man now, said quietly. Hagrid nodded glumly. It was a hard loss, but for him especially. His father had always loved him, always cared for him, always accepted him as he was. Not many people did that…no, very few accepted him…and even fewer liked him. It was a hard lot for a twelve-year old, but Hagrid was used to it by now. He had lived with it his whole life. "If you need to talk, Hagrid, I'm here," the man said. Hagrid didn't say anything. When would the guy understand that he just wanted to be left alone? He didn't want someone taking pity on him out of loyalty to his dad. He still had more respect for himself than that, because his dad had had more respect for him than that. The man still didn't leave. "Hagrid, I would like to sit with you during the funeral," he said. Hagrid said nothing. He wanted to be left alone. Maybe if he was quiet this guy would understand that. Maybe if he ignored him the man would leave him alone. It didn't work, the guy just sat there. Hagrid knew his dad would be ashamed of how rude he was being. He knew that his dad had raised him better than that, so he answered.

"Mmmm," was all he said, though. It was non-committal. The guy could take it however he wanted, though Hagrid hoped he got the hint. Hagrid had yet to look up from his tennis-shoes (a man's size seventeen already). He didn't want to look up towards the front of the church…he didn't want to see the coffin. That would make it final…make it real. He didn't want it to be real…he wanted to hold on to that futile hope that his dad would come back, that this was all a bad dream and he would wake up to his father calling him. He didn't accept it…not yet, not until his dad was buried. Maybe not even then. His dad was all he had in the world, with him gone…he had nothing. He was still young, and as much as he tried to hide it, he did need someone to care for him. His rough features made him look as if he didn't need someone to care, it hid the kind and needy person inside. He needed acceptance, just like everyone else did. His tough skin was only a physical characteristic…his soul was soft and his heart was bared to anyone who took time to look. His dad always did…his father had understood the person behind the wild exterior. He needed that acceptance, and subconsciously craved it now that it was gone. As long as he had had that-as long as he had had his dad-he didn't care what other's thought about him. He had known that at least one person would always accept him, but now he didn't have that assurance. Even his dad's friends were giving him a wide berth, giving their condolences from afar with a scared look on their face. They thought he was dangerous, like many others. His dad had understood, but no one else really did. They didn't cry for his loss, they didn't think he felt it. He did, and it hurt horribly. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he remembered his dad and him talking one day, many years ago. He had been five.

"_Hagrid! Hagrid! Put it down!" his father called, running over to his son, who was already almost taller that he was. He was picking up a young tree by the roots, not meaning to hurt it, just unaware of his strength. _

_"But I jus' wanted to look at it, dad," Hagrid said, still holding the tree. His father smiled down at him._

_"Yeah, but you'll kill the tree that-a way," he said, pointing at the roots. Hagrid looked down and quickly let go of the tree. He looked ashamed._

_"I'm sorry, dad…I didn't mean to," he said, looking up at his father. His dad smiled at him, patting his shoulder._

_"I know, son, I know. You're just strong, that's all," he said, and they continued their walk._

_"None of the other kids say that, dad. They say I'm mean and scary…they say I'm a monster, sometimes…I'm not, am I?" Hagrid asked, looking at his dad worriedly. He was such a kind, gentle, soft-hearted boy for his size. He didn't want to hurt anyone and hated that people were scared of him. It hurt him when other kids screamed when they saw him. _

_"Yes, but they just don't understand you, son. They would like you if they got to know you," he said, squeezing his son's hand._

_"But they don'. I don' have any friends," Hagrid said, tears welling in his eyes. His father turned and looked him right in the eye._

_"It's simply because they don't try to know you, son…that's all. You're not a monster, but a kind boy. You're wonderful and the best son any man could ask for, okay? If they don't like you, they don't need you as their friend, huh? If they don't even talk to you, you're too good for them, okay? Don't forget that," he said. Then smiling, he tapped his sons shoulder. "You're it!' he said, before running away quickly. Hagrid laughed and started running after his dad, trying to catch him. _

The twelve year-old Hagrid felt tears fall from his eyes. He didn't even try to stop them. He remembered their many games of tag, the few times they wrestled, the many card games they'd played. He smiled through his tears as he remembered all the laughs he and his father had shared. They had been friends…Hagrid would even say his dad was his best friend.

Every night, before he went to bed, his dad would read him a story. Hagrid was a bit old for it now, but they still did it. His father enjoyed it and Hagrid loved spending time with his dad. They would always talk and laugh. Many of the stories his dad choose carefully. Hagrid's favorite had always been the _Ugly Duckling_. His father thought it was good he'd liked it. He cried a bit harder thinking about his father kissing his forehead and murmering, "I love you, son," before he went to sleep. It was a ritual his father loved to do. He'd found a way to do it even when Hagrid was ten and thought he was above such things. He'd come in after Hagrid was asleep-or he thought Hagrid was asleep-and do it anyway. Hagrid never stopped him. His father's smile at he stood watching him always let him know that his dad liked it. If his dad liked it, Hagrid was fine with it.

"Hagrid, we need to go to the front," the person next to him said. He felt a hand slip under his elbow and help him up. Whoever this person was, he was kind. He decided to look up. He almost gasped as he looked into the sad face of his Transfiguration teacher, Professor Dumbledore. He'd always like Dumbledore the best. "Come on," the man said quietly, leading Hagrid down the center walk way and to his seat. Hagrid sat, finally looking at the coffin. It was then that the awful reality hit. His father, _his father, _was gone. Dead. Hagrid would never see him again. He broke down right there and sobbed, not caring about the whispers going around or the glances. It was his dad after all.

A man in black stood up and started a speck, but Hagrid ignored it. He'd never seen the man before. The man had no idea who his father was. He was watching the coffin through his tears, knowing his dad was there. Suddenly, people were standing up all around him. He glanced up to see Dumbledore smiling sadly down at him.

"It's time to go, Hagrid," he said. Hagrid nodded and stood up shakily. But he didn't leave. He looked at Dumbledore.

"Can I see him…on last time?" he asked quietly. Dumbledore looked at him, and there was no twinkle in his somber blue eyes.

"Of course, Hagrid…take all the time you need," he said. Hagrid nodded, unable to say anything through the tears that clogged his throat. He walked slowly up to the coffin, gasping for breath through his tears. He wiped his eyes and looked into the still, lifeless face of his father. He stood there, looking, watching. Everyone was looking at him, but he didn't care. He didn't even notice. He was looking at his dad…and he was saying goodbye.


	3. Neville to Parents not dead

Neville's Lullaby

"Well Alice," his grandmother said to h is mother, "you'll be proud to hear Neville's stood up to You-Know-Who as well. He fought Death Eaters, just like you did," she said in a high voice, like she was talking to a young child. His mother didn't react…she never did. She never gave any indication that they were there.

"Frank," his grandmother said, turning to his father, "did you hear what I said, darling?" His father blinked, but he didn't do anything else. He just stared off into space. Neville wasn't even sure his parents were aware that they had visitors.

"Neville, give your mother her gift!" his grandmother said in that falsely cheery voice, but she said it a bit sharply to her grandson. Neville jumped and quickly placed the plant on his mothers bedside table, as well as the card that proclaimed **Happy Birthday **in big, bright letters.

"Harry Birthday, mum," he whispered as he said them down. His mother gave him a confused look and touched the flower.

"Yes, Alice…it's a nice flower, isn't it? Pretty and nice. Nice," she repeated, trying to get his mother to say something. His mother was still touching the flower and looking at it with her perpetually wide eyes. Neville sighed, though he did it quietly so his grandmother wouldn't hear. She would scold him if she did.

His father didn't even look at the flower, or at anything, really. An awkward silence, the kind that always punctuated these visits to his parents, ensued. At a sharp look from his grandmother, Neville decided to try and talk to his parents.

"Um…Dad, I have some really good friends. They're great!" Neville said. This was something he enjoyed talking about. The look on his grandmothers face whenever he named Harry Potter as one of his friends made Neville fell really good, something that rarely happened because of his grandmother. Neville knew that his grandmother loved him very much, but she didn't think that he was a good as his father was. Neville knew that his father had been a very good wizard, and he knew that his grandmother really did think that he was good, but she always made him feel that he was never good enough. No matter what he did, it wasn't up to her standards. Except the night at the ministry. That one night was something she bragged about to all of her friends.

"…_Yes, I know. My grandson was there, fighting right along side Harry Potter and his friends. He fired spells at Death Eaters! Yes, he did indeed. He was very brave. He even stood up to Bellatrix Lestrange, the one who tortured his parents! Yes, he did. My Neville was there!..."_she'd say to her friends. She loved to brag about that. He knew she loved him, and she really did. But sometimes he wished…he just sighed, not finishing the thought.

"Neville," his grandmothers voice brought him out of his thoughts, "tell your parents your friends names."

"Yes, ma'am. Well, there's Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter-they're great! They're all really brave and pretty talented, too. We're all a part of the DA-that's Dumbledore's Army, mum. It's not a real army, of course. I mean, we're just fifteen! But we didn't like the ministry, so…oh, never mind," he said as his mother started humming.

"Neville!" his grandmother scolded, "you should talk! It's good for them," she reminded him quietly, so as not to disturb his parents. He sighed, but suddenly listened to his mother's song. It sounded oddly familiar, like he'd hear it before, as if in a dream. His grandmother, who'd given up on him talking-which meant a scolding would ensue as soon as they left the room-was talking herself now. Her voice faded out. All he heard was the music. Where had he heard it before? Slowly, words started to filter into his mind.

Listen to my lullaby,

just rest your little head.

Close your little eyes, dear one,

it's time to go to bed.

Twinkling stars are in the sky,

to watch you all night long.

Neville, dear, just close your eyes,

just listen to mum's song.

I place you down and rock you,

watching from above.

If I'm gone before you wake,

I'll still give my love.

Listen to mommy's song Lullaby,

as I hold you close to me.

Listen to my song, my son,

keep it in your memory.

Neville knew the song his mother was humming…it was a Lullaby she'd sung to him when he was a baby. It was in his memory, but as a dream, almost. It didn't seem real, that there was a time his mother had sung him that song, a time she had held him. But here it was, she was humming it and he knew the words.

"Come, Neville, it's time to go," his grandmother's voice suddenly broke him away from his thoughts.

"I'll be a minute, grandmother," Neville said, leaning under the bed as if he had dropped something.

"Fine," she said in an exasperated voice. She stool up and walked out, so Neville straightened up and sat on the edge of his parent's bed, looking at his mother. He didn't sing the song, but he did say the words as his mother stopped humming and looked at him.

"Listen to my Lullaby,

rest your weary head,

Close your eyes, dear one,

it's time to go to bed.

"Twinkling stars are in the sky,

to watch you all night long.

Mother, dear, just close your eyes

just listen to my song.

"I sit hear and talk to you,

not sure you know I'm here.

Like you did for baby me,

I'll sooth away your tears.

"Listen to my Lullaby

the one you sang to me.

Now I say the song to you,

kept in my memory," Neville finished. His mother looked at him and smiled. She started humming again, and he noticed that she was still humming the lullaby.

"Bye, mum, bye, dad," he said, smiling sadly. "I love you," he said before he left. His grandmother was waiting for him, tapping her food impatiently.

"What took so long?" she asked him sharply. He smiled quietly to himself.

"Oh, I was just saying goodbye."


End file.
